


the world doesn't end because the doctor dances

by eunvoia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: A lot of feels, Canon Compliant, Episode: s01e10 The Doctor Dances, F/M, Fluff, Ninth Doctor - Freeform, Ninth Doctor Era, Rose Tyler - Freeform, cute and smol, major fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 20:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eunvoia/pseuds/eunvoia
Summary: Nine hundred years...most spent saving the world...and he'd never felt quietly sheepish. Or this kind of jittery nervousness.A Nine/Rose fluff drabble based on the episode "The Doctor Dances" (2005).





	the world doesn't end because the doctor dances

She smiles at the floor for a while, letting the echoing buzz and the tangible apprehension wash over her. The thought - it was too hilarious for now - but to even suggest! She swivels around (death wasn't going to stop her), stands up, and walks toward him. 

There is a dreamlike air about it all, as though the action of rising from the chair had lifted everything. Everything: the fact that there was no way out. The thought that they were going to die, were going to become empty. The realization that the entirety of the human race was being rewritten. In his words- by an idiot. 

"You've got the moves?" No, now was not the time, this was serious. And definitely no time for Glenn Miller serenades. 

"Show me your moves," she says innocently, mouth agape. 

Waiting. 

His back was to her. Nine hundred years of time travel and he had never felt anything like it- the red sweeping his cheeks, the lightheadedness, the not-focusing (he was the Doctor! What was he doing, thinking about something rather than-) "Rose." (The name fell easily off his lips, he decided he liked the sweetness of the single syllable as he said it- like a strawberry milkshake, the exact shade she had worn on that day they had met- he wanted to say it again) "I'm trying to (the voice was dying away) resonate concrete." (Well that sounded...dumb.) Nine hundred years...most spent saving the world...and he'd never felt quietly sheepish. Or this kind of jittery nervousness. 

He stared at the outstretched hand. Took it, and the other. Flipped the hands over (when had he last danced?) and over. Moves? He'd forgotten all of them. 

"Barrage balloon?" he inquired of her, barely hearing anything above the blood rushing to his head. He enjoyed listening to her voice- the lilt, like a rose, blossoming. 

And he couldn't see a thorn. 

It didn't feel like a waging war. It felt like- "...you'll find your feet at the end of your legs. You may care to move them."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very, very much appreciated! This is my first fic, so please be kind. Find me on tumblr as @ronmiones! P.S.: I wrote this last year when I watched DW for the first time and became Nine/Rose trash, but never got around to posting it anywhere. Ninerose's love for each other is so deep and pure, and they deserve the world together :(


End file.
